Pain

I just don't know if I can do this anymore. Even typing is exhausting. My head feels like it weighs a thousand pounds; even turning it makes me feel dizzy. I don't want to cry again--it's only been about a month since I last cried--but moving my eyes so that I don't focus on a single spot and feel like I can't move them again makes me feel queasy. I know what's wrong with me, but to try and change it would feel like lying to myself. I don't know why my depression should feel like such an immutable fact about myself--maybe it's just acclimatization to the clouds I feel in my mind, and an expectation of their continuous presence--but truth is one of those things I just feel like I can't avoid. My heart is pounding and my hands shaking, just sitting here on my bed, from which I've hardly moved all day, for the past two days.

Yesterday, after coming home from work, I drove to the grocery store, which is walking distance from my new apartment (which I moronically thought would be a miracle cure to my self-loathing), even though I said I'd said to myself I'd only ever walk there. I used the rainy weather as an excuse, but really, it was just a retroactive justification for driving there, which I wanted to do because I wanted to buy a bunch of junk food to binge on. While at the grocery store, I met a woman from work. She was her usual pleasant and cheery self, and I found myself once again wishing I could be like her--pretty, kind, upbeat, fairly easy going even though she was the secretary in a busy hospital emergency department. I assumed that she had a spouse, and didn't sit on her bed all day trying to remind her self that she couldn't attempt suicide because of all the college debt she'd leave to those she left behind, and all the good people to whom she owed so much. Maybe she did feel as miserable as I do; maybe everyone does. God, I hope not.

As I walked through the grocery store, I did it in a harried pace and emotional state because I didn't want her or anyone else to see the crap that I was buying--some sane things, like apples and coffee, but also a frozen pizza and some fudge and a bottle of wine, all of which I've completely consumed in the past 24 hours. Having eaten all those things yesterday, I've had nothing but a yogurt and a carrot (and two cups of coffee) in compensation, although also due to the desire to avoid any further gastrointestinal unpleasantness. I ate all that food yesterday in the hopes of being distracted, which I was during my consuming of it, but now feel nothing about, except slightly guilty. It seems like no matter what I do--new apartment, new-and-improved job in two weeks, the occasional intense work-out--all I ever feel is bad.

I've been watching Sex And The City en marathon, and while I used to be inspired by what usually seems like an almost ethereal existence--little more than light meals, delicate outfits, and wizened sex and life talk--I'm now just depressed. Their lives (obviously artificial though they are) are so full, even if sometimes it's full of less-than-ideal stuff. Mine just feels empty. The only thing that keeps me going is a sense of obligation: obligation to parents, family and friends who have scarcely done me wrong, obligation to other people who objectively have it worse than me. I hate to call myself a martyr, as that sounds self-aggrandizing and I'm not worth that, but I'm short of words that describe a sense of imprisonment that don't sound self-pitying. Isn't there a non-subjective way of saying, "this sucks"? I just wish I had someone whom I could talk to that I wouldn't worry by saying all of this bullshit, someone who could be level-headed and let me be a mess. But then, I don't think I'm worthy of being any kind of burden on other people, so I guess I'm just left to stew on my own. I keep expecting things to change, without ever changing myself. What an idiot.

God, help me. Fucking shit.